


lemme spell it out for you

by shamyesapsoorap



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Humor, I always feel like I'm forgetting like thirty applicable tags whoops, Meet-Cute, Modern AU, coffeshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamyesapsoorap/pseuds/shamyesapsoorap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: I’m a barista and you’re the obnoxious customer who comes through and orders a venti macchiato while talking on the phone the whole time so I misspell your name in increasingly creative ways every day AU.</p>
<p>In which Bellamy is the barista and Clarke is the busy businessperson who is Not. Amused. by the hijinks of one very disrespectful employee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lemme spell it out for you

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T for language? Is that okay? (You know Clarke and those F-bombs, man.)

It's a drizzly Thursday when Clarke walks into Bellamy's coffeeshop for the first time.

Bellamy knows her name is Clarke because that's what she says, sharply, in between snapping "Honestly, this is impossible to fuck up," and "It's easier than a goddamned Choose-Your-Own-Adventure, there's no thinking required," at whoever she's on the phone with, her manicured fingernails clicking through her wallet in search of the right credit card.

Bellamy knows her name is Clarke because that's what she says: Venti macchiato, please. My name is Clarke.

(He can't believe she takes the time to say _please_.)

Bellamy knows her name is Clarke as he writes "C-L-A-R-K" carefully on her venti coffee cup and hands it to Raven, who looks at what he's written, then looks at Bellamy, then looks at Clarke. She frowns.

Clarke's still talking on her phone when Raven calls, "Venti macchiato for Clarke!" and slides the cup onto the counter. Clarke takes it (without a second glance) and strides toward the door. Bellamy feels weirdly disappointed.

She pauses right outside the shop, though, to extend her umbrella – and because her other hand is still occupied holding her phone to her ear, she puts her macchiato down on one of the patio tables. When she picks the cup up again, she pauses, her eyes on its side.

And then, for a moment that feels like forever, she turns, and her eyes meet Bellamy's through the foggy shop window. They're frowning slightly, her eyes, but Bellamy still thinks she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Not exactly your type," Raven mutters as he hands her the next cup.

"Shut up, Raven," he says, unable to keep a stupid grin from crawling onto his face.

And after that, every customer is Clarke. Bellamy sees her everywhere. The six-and-a-half-foot-tall guy with probably ten piercings has Clarke's expressive eyes. The teenager wearing a London Calling T-shirt has Clarke's freckle above her lip. The tiny old woman who orders so many cheese danishes that Raven has to take the next batch out of the oven seven minutes early – she has Clarke's disappointed, angry voice ( _what do you mean, you don't have eleven cheese danishes? What kind of coffeeshop is this?_ ) and Bellamy doesn't even roll his eyes when she turns around.

(Raven watches him with concern. "You're not going soft on me, are you, Blake?" she asks.)

He's not going soft, but the next time she walks into the shop, he nearly faints. She's blonde and beautiful and he wants so badly to say something to her – something like, "hey," or "I like your name," or "I like your face." Or "Marry me."

But he can't say anything, because she's talking on the phone again. ( _No, I did NOT say green, I distinctly said bluish-chartreuse. This is a catastrophe. Venti macchiato, please. My name is Clarke. No, you CAN'T just paint over it – God, how moronic do you think the Jahas are? Not that moronic, I'll tell you that. They can tell a bluish-chartreuse-sloppily-concealing-rainforest-green blindfolded and backward in a pitch-black room in the next country. Jesus. What do I pay you for?_ )

Bellamy settles for writing "K-L-A-R-C" on her cup. Raven rolls her eyes outright.

The next day, is _It's fucking Saturday, for Christ's sake, can't you do anything right?_ and "K-A-L-O-R-E-K."

The day after that is _DROMEDARY HAVE ONE HUMP YOU MORON_ and "L-E-W-I-S - A-N-D – ", which earns him an "Honestly, how desperate are you?" from Raven, but still nothing from Clarke.

Bellamy thinks it's pretty good, though, so the next day – ( _Literally that is a dick joke that is not an inspirational quote. Why are you insisting it's an inspirational quote? Anyone that ever went to preschool would know it's not._ ) – the next day he does it again, only this time he puts "L-O-U-I-S - A-N-D – "

And it's this one that finally gets a reaction out of her. The shop's nearly empty, so Bellamy has an unobstructed view of Clarke as she picks up her venti macchiato, reads the side, and heaves a sigh that clearly says, "I am surrounded by idiots."

"Look, I'll call you back," she says into her phone, as she marches around to the front of the counter and brandishes the cup at Bellamy. "What the hell," she says loudly, and everyone in the shop turns to face them.

"Um." That's Bellamy's articulate defense. His brain is doing cartwheels, because finally, she's talking to him, she's talking to him, and he has to watch out that he doesn't accidentally propose when he's not paying attention. It doesn't even matter that Clarke's storming mad. All five-foot-nothing of her is a little intimidating, but not that intimidating.

Raven leans against the side counter to watch, arms crossed and a small smile on her face. She's obviously enjoying herself.

"Okay, first of all," Clarke complains, "my name is _Clarke_ , C-L-A-R-K-fucking-E, and 'Lewis and' sounds exactly zero like 'Clarke.' _Secondly_ , you didn't even _write_ 'Lewis and,' you wrote 'Louis and,' which is not pronounced the same and that's just basic French. Or basic jazz trumpet."

Bellamy takes it back. She's _scary_ when her anger is directed at him. "It was a joke?" he says. "Lewis and _Clark_ , get it?"

"And don't think I haven't noticed that you're apparently incapable of spelling Clarke correctly, either! I mean, K-L-A-R-C? Really?"

Raven snorts. "What an idiot, am I right?"

Clarke looks at Raven appreciatively, then back at Bellamy with a _what-do-you-have-to-say-for-yourself_ sort of look.

"Well." Bellamy clears his throat. "You're right. I'm not very good at spelling, and even worse at jazz trumpet." (He's actually fluent in French, though, thank you very much, but he doesn't need to drag that into the conversation.) "You know what I do know how to spell, though? Bellamy. B-E-L-L-A-M-Y." That stops Clarke short, her angry expression replaced by a flummoxed one. He waits a moment, and when she still looks puzzled, he says, "Here, let me write that down for you."

Grabbing a napkin with a flourish, he scrawls, "B-E-L-L-A-M-Y."

And then, just for good measure, he adds his phone number.

**Author's Note:**

> As always:
> 
> Come talk to me at [shamyesapsoorap.tumblr.com](http://www.shamyesapsoorap.tumblr.com), where I am even less calm, cool, and collected about these nerds than I am here.
> 
> Additionally, these characters are not mine (duh) but all the cheese danishes are, so hands off.


End file.
